It was almost time to go when Rachel, Michelle, and Mia placed their
packed bags in the hallway of the Hotel Palazzo Rosa in Venice. The last
train to Spannocchia was set to depart in a few hours to take them to their writing group in Tuscany. Recognizing
that life may never bring them together again in Venice, they circled
back to their favorite spots and the people they met, unaware of the
open door and enchantment waiting for their discovery.
Stepping away and following the signs and twists and turns of Venice, they made their way to all the spots they wanted to see again, adding a few new places in between—a juice bar where Rachel shared her dream of opening her own poetry café, a clothing boutique named Silvietta with a summer dress for each of them, a gelato shop for another taste of the sweet, cold cream they loved. They savored each moment against the hour-and-a-half remaining, an hour to be on the safer side.
They strolled in and out of stores they missed on their first two days in the beautiful city built on more than 100 small islands in a lagoon in the Adriatic Sea.
She touched the shelf lined with the leather-bound journals, resting her fingers on a cover. She dared to open one of the journals, telling herself she could admire but not buy it (she had already exceeded her spending budget). She was in trouble from the very first page, falling in love with the grain, the long leather string and texture draped around her fingers, the blank pages inviting her to write inside—
Imagine the stories. Imagine your ideas coming to life and within reach of your fingertips. The woman who was ready to pay for her journal smiled at Mia and said, "His work is beautiful."
Mia nodded and embraced the moment, stretching out the little time she had. She turned to meet the owner who made the treasures that made the store come to life. She stayed, listening and learning, spending more than a few minutes with the man full of passion for the journals he created. Fifteen minutes had passed, maybe a half-hour or more. Rachel came inside, wondering what was keeping Mia. Michelle followed in, also wondering. Soon they were all at risk of missing their train.
Elio showed the writers an old copy of the documentary, love and pride
in his eyes when he talked about his city and La Carta, where he met his
wife, Carla. The deep joy he felt when designing and crafting by hand
his leather-bound journals and photo albums, all the things created from
paper and shaped into books to cherish forever.
They learned he was also a collector of great arts, rare finds, and books. His face lighted up when he spoke about the special journal he won at an auction. His smile twinkled. They asked to see. He bent behind the counter and pulled out the aged-old yellow journal, showed them the handwritten, Italian notes filling the pages, passed from priest to priest through Italy. It was a rare treasure in their hands. Enchanted, they asked him to read a few passages. He did with happiness. Mia didn't understand a single word, but she heard the pure delight in his voice carrying her forward with a leap. It no longer mattered whether Elio came from a line of Vianellos dating back to 950 A.D., if it was 4, 40, 400, or 4,000 generations of history in the making. Standing before them was a man who loved his treasures, his books, his handcrafted journals, his store, his city, his life, his wife. It didn't cost them anything to believe in him and share in his joy. Stretching out the last few minutes
they had before the last train came, the writers selected and paid for
their journals bound with Elio's passion and craftsmanship. Wishing to
bring the magic and gift of La Carta home, Mia asked Elio if he would sign her journals.
He asked for her name. "Mia," she said. "Mia Starr." "Mia." He smiled and signed the journals she gave him. In one, he drew the meaning of his name: a window, stairs made of four steps, and stars above. He said, "It's the way to the sky, the way to the stars." "Thank you, Elio," she said and repeated the gift of his name. "The way to the sky. The way to the stars." She carried the gift home and into the pages of her journal, writing the
story of meeting Elio that summer day in 2011, sharing it in another
blog. Since then, that special day continued to find its way back to Mia
through the readers sharing their thoughts of Elio and Mia's story—
Oh Mia, every time I look at this I'm transported to our 3 days of fun and friendship in Venice. Elio was such an amazing man, and I still have that red photo album covered in hand-dyed paper, that Elio made. I am still saving it for my wedding album. I think it will be time to fill it up soon! —Michelle C., 2013 With the last two from travelers Elio had also touched on the way to the sky, the way to the stars— Hi Mia! It was through Mr. & Mrs. Elio that I found your blog. In February I had the thrill of going to Carnevale in Venice, for the first time. It was during one of our walks that we happened upon the marvelous La Carta, and met this charming couple. Being from southern Louisiana we gifted them each with Mardi Gras beads with which they seemed genuinely delighted. Afterward, I sent them great photos I'd taken of them. It was when I Google'd about their shop that I found your wonderful article. Thank you so much. I enjoy your writing. —Cindy M., 2013 Above: Elio with his wife Carla at their shop, La Carta, S. Marco,
5547/A (S. Bartolomeo), 30124 Venezia, Italy, 2013. Below: Elio's
beautiful journals finding their way to a vintage shop in England, and
into a customer's hands, 2019.
Beautifully made as you can imagine in a deep shade of golden chestnut ... With this leather cover was another, in dark green but without a label. Equally wonderful. Standing before them was a man who loved his treasures, his handmade journals, his store, his city, his wife, his life. Comments are closed.
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